


Witches are the Worst

by eqyptiangold



Series: In Which Stiles is an Omega [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek, Alpha Derek Hale, Derek dresses like an art hoe at one point, Every Werewolf Wants Stiles Stilinski, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Crack, Fluff and Humor, M/M, Omega Stiles Stilinski, Pheromones, Spells & Enchantments, Werewolf Stiles Stilinski, temporary werewolf Stiles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-03
Updated: 2019-02-03
Packaged: 2019-10-21 07:09:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17638148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eqyptiangold/pseuds/eqyptiangold
Summary: “Did you me drug in m’sleep?” Stiles mumbles, assuming Scott and maybe a few others are in the room keeping a watchful, concerned eye on him. “Thanks.”“Stiles,” a voice says, sounding nothing like any of the people he might have expected.“Derek?” Slowly, the high school student opens his eyes. “What’s going on?"





	Witches are the Worst

 

This is the worst fight of Stiles’ life. Considering he’s been in what feels like hundreds of fights with every monster or supernatural nasty under the sun, that’s saying a hell of a lot. It’s not that the brawl is all that onerous--the opposite, in fact. The small coven of witches is just… pathetic. They look like the gothy group from high school who had a strange obsession with witchcraft and loved to go out of their way to bother the quiet Christian kids.

These witches aren’t very different. The same badly dyed purple and black hair, facefulls of painful-looking piercings and thick black lipstick. It’s not that Stiles is against their style choices; honestly, he’s mildly impressed. It’s just… the coven looks like they’re trying  _ so _ hard to look like proper witches. They’re failing miserably, too. Stiles feels like he knows more about sorcery than they did. 

It’s just too easy. The pack can’t even bring themselves to really hurt the coven. Stiles watches as the werewolves knock them out, one after another, until only one remains. She’s clutching a short statue to her chest, creating a loud clanging noise as it knocks against the pendant on her necklace. Black eyeliner and stark white foundation drip down her face due to sweat yet her teeth are chattering. 

The werewolves pause, as if waiting for her to wave the white flag so they can spare the effort. Of course, even the wimpiest enemy they’ve ever faced still manages to land a hit. It’s just their luck. Her eyes lock onto Stiles, just long enough for him to widen his eyes, before she throws the statue. Just before it connects with his forehead, he takes notice of a shitty carving on the side. It looks like something out of the shitty werewolf porn Stiles had accidentally stumbled upon in his past research. 

_ Thud! _

Stiles is passed out before he hits the ground. 

  
  


“Hm.” Softly, Stiles hums as he wakes up. The pillow he’s rested on is comfortable and it’s enough to make him forget about the statue that’d slammed him in the face, at least for a moment. When he does remember, it’s surprisingly not due to the pain. In fact, there is none. His head doesn’t hurt in the slightest. A little fuzzy, maybe, but more in a tired or drugged way than a pained way. Drugs; maybe that explains it. “Did you me drug in m’sleep?” he mumbles, assuming Scott and maybe a few others are in the room keeping a watchful, concerned eye on him. “Thanks.” 

“Stiles,” a voice says, sounding nothing like any of the people he might have expected. 

“Derek?” Slowly, the high school student opens his eyes. There’s none of the ache he was expecting. “What’s going on?” He peers around to see Derek leaning against the door. There’s no one else there. Stiles isn’t sure how to react; the only explanation he can think of is that no one wanted to be around him. Except… why would Derek be here, then? Did he pick the literal short straw, or something? No. Scott would want to be here. 

Derek still hasn’t replied. 

“Derek?” Stiles asks nervously. “I’m at a loss. What’s happening? Is everyone okay?” 

“The rest of them are fine,” Derek settles on, looking like he’d chosen his words carefully. Even through the slight fuzziness, Stiles connects the dots in an instant. 

“But I’m not? Or you’re not? Holy shit, did I infect you or something?” 

Derek rolls his eyes. “No, you didn’t,” he says slowly. “I’m fine.” He looks ridiculously guilty and Stiles kind of wants to smack him. If not for the apparent injury he’s facing, Stiles probably would have mentioned it. “When the witch hit you with the statue, it was actually a spell,” Derek continues. “It was meant to turn you.”

Stiles feels his stomach turn over in a panic. He can’t be a werewolf. He just… he can’t be. He’s Stiles, the resident human of the group. It’s his thing. Derek must hear his heart racing--oh god, Stiles doesn’t want super hearing--because the alpha speaks again quickly. “It didn’t work, not technically. They mixed the spell with proper magic and their own shitty attempts.” Derek continues his explanation, with a lot of awkward stuttering and uncomfortable shifting that just isn’t like him at all. 

Stiles is freaked out, by both the strange behaviour and the explanation. Moreso the explanation. He’s a werewolf, but only until the next full moon according to Deaton. Since the spell only half-worked, his body attempting to change form will be enough to completely fuck up the spell and break it. 

Stiles asks questions consistently. He can tell it’s the only way to get all the information out of Derek, who looks unbelievably uncomfortable. After asking why the witches thought giving someone supernatural powers would be helpful, Derek manages a stunted explanation. 

The coven knew absolutely nothing about werewolves. They had the same knowledge as an over-sexualized fanfiction. Though they knew about alphas, betas, and omegas, they had the information about each completely wrong. They thought werewolves were born as one of the three, and it couldn’t be changed. The witches believed that omegas were merely the weak wolves, made to be fucked and impregnated by betas or alphas. 

Stiles is an omega. He exudes pheromones that make him smell  _ amazing _ to other werewolves. Brain already working overtime to take in the information, Stiles doesn’t connect that with the rest of pack missing. 

Not until he hears a thud from outside the door. He takes in a short breath, something like a gasp. Derek makes a panic face--which, for him, is just scrunched eyebrows and a slight downturn of his lips. “What-” Stiles manages, before Derek pushes him off the bed and away from the door. Wrapped in blankets, he rolls in a tangled mess until he hits the wall. 

There’s growling and the sound of hits landing, and Stiles struggles to sit up and see what the hell is going on. His gaze finally lands on the brawl. It’s Derek against… his pack. Except, the pack doesn’t look like they should. They’ve all got their eyes on Stiles, treating Derek like a mere pest in the way of their path to the student. 

Fuck. Pheromones, Stiles remembers. Holy shit, Erica and Isaac and Boyd and Scott are all trying to-- Stiles is about to have a panic attack. They want to fuck him. That’s just not right, not at  _ all _ . Thank every god or deity, Derek is holding them off. Stiles doesn’t know how long he can hold it up, though. Although the pack is still being fairly gentle, considering what he’s seen them do before, there are still four of them and only one alpha. 

Stiles doesn’t know what to do. Of course, like any logical person would, he panics and jumps out the window. It’s not a very big fall, thankfully, and he lands on his feet. He jars his knees, but pushes through the mild pain and sprints in the opposite direction of Derek’s place. Assuming he understood Derek’s stammering, the effect of the pheromones will fade once the wolves can no longer smell him. 

Stiles doesn’t have a fucking clue what he’s doing. He’s stressed out of his mind and his heart is pounding and  _ Scott wanted to sleep with him _ . That’s a thousand different types of wrong. Stiles really hates witches. 

He can probably stop running now, but he doesn’t. Lungs starting to burn, the high school student only speeds up, breaks into a full-out sprint. Even though he’s been going on runs with the pack, it still hurts deep in his chest. Stiles isn’t sure how long he’s been going, now. He only vaguely recognizes his surroundings from what he’d considered to be a completely necessary Google Earth search. Really, with their luck, Stiles always considered it important to know everything within a few miles of his usual haunts. 

He only stops sprinting when his phone buzzes in his pocket. Heart pounding in his cheeks and ears, Stiles slows until he’s tripping over his own lanky, tired legs. Clumsily, he falls into a seated position on the the curb. Fingers shaking ever so slightly, he answers the call with a wheezy, “Please tell me the pack isn’t trying to catch a ride on the Stiles train anymore.” 

Derek huffs out what might be a laugh but Stiles is too tired to know for sure. The exhaustion didn’t settle in properly until he stopped, but now he feels like his lungs are trying to abandon ship. “They’re fine,” Derek promises. “Are you?” 

Stiles manages a few deep, long breaths before replying. “Yeah. Just wondering how the hell I’m s’pposed to keep this shit up for the next twenty-nine days.” He’s long since memorized the days on which full moons take place. Never before had Stiles anticipated needing to know it for his own change. 

“I’ll stay with you,” Derek says. 

“What?” It occurs to Stiles to wonder why the hell Derek can resist his freaky pheromones when no one else can. Maybe it’s an alpha thing, or maybe Derek is just so completely disgusted by him that even witchy pheromones can’t change it. 

“Another pack could come to town. Our pack could get too close to you. Plus, we’re completely trusting Deaton with the effects of this spell and even he isn’t fully sure. I’m not leaving you alone in the middle of all that,” Derek explains, voice gruff as if it pains to say so much to Stiles without slotting an insult in somewhere. So busy going over the words in his head in search of a hidden snipe somewhere, it takes Stiles a moment to properly process what the alpha has said. 

“So you’re going to stick by my side 24/7?” he clarifies. Derek nods. “What about school? I have a huge project this week and a two tests coming up. I can’t afford to miss a month of school, dude. There’s important things to be done!” he protests, free hand flailing as he speaks. The phone must be making some awful scratchy noises from his shaky grip on it, especially to werewolf ears. 

“You’ll switch out with the rest of the pack,” Derek responds. It’s an alright plan, Stiles thinks. Save for the fact that he can’t exactly show up to class with a twenty-three year old werewolf in tow. He’s quick to voice the concern. Derek sighs tiredly, as if he’s already talked that particular path of conversation to death. “Scott says exchange student. Erica says”--Derek huffs-- “emotional support person.” 

“You do  _ not _ look like a high school student,” Stiles says immediately. “And I just don’t think emotional support person would fly with the school, unless you’re willing to stay in dog form the whole time.” Stiles snickers. 

“Shut up,” Derek says calmly. 

“I guess if you shaved and wore a hood or something you could pass as a student. The buck-teeth help, I think,” Stiles suggests, humming thoughtfully. A small growl reverberates through the phone. The teenager almost makes some comment about how cute the alpha’s smile is, but holds it back. “Come pick me up,” he orders instead. He’s grateful when Derek doesn’t ask any questions; Stiles really isn’t sure how he’s going to word his intentions without sounding like some cliche teen movie starring Noah Centineo.  _ “We’re going shopping for a makeover!” _ Even the thought is enough to make Stiles cringe a bit. 

“Send me your location,” Derek replies. “I’ll be there in five.” 

“You don’t even know where I am,” Stiles comments. “How do you know it’ll take you five minutes?” Derek scoffs and hangs up. 

He still shows up exactly five minutes later, though. 

 

As it turns out, the cliche movie makeover scene is inevitable. Derek is far less excited and, well,  _ female _ then most movies, but still. Now isn’t the time for Stiles to think about the fact that Hollywood movies mainly star white, skinny, heterosexual people. The injustices of the world will have to wait until he’s dressed Derek to pass as a high schooler for a month. Wow. That sounded incredibly creepy.  

“I can see you rambling in your head,” Derek quips as he exits through the curtain door of the dressing room. 

Stiles’ gaze darts up. He’s blissfully melted into an overstuffed couch outside the dressing room, waiting to assess Derek’s looks. Oh, he’s… kind of beautiful. The alpha is clad in a light blue hoodie with the hood hung low over his face, shadowing his strong features. Light wash blue jeans, fitting high on his waist, were mostly for Stiles’ benefit. “Tuck the front of the hoodie in and cuff your pants,” he orders. Derek follows his instructions with a scowl. “Put on the denim jacket,” Stiles is quick to add. It’s a black-grey distressed jacket, matched with ridiculous black ankle boots that look unfairly good. 

“Did you find all this in the women’s section?” Derek asks flatly. 

Stiles tosses a throw pillow at him. “First of all, why should that matter?” The alpha huffs at him but nods begrudgingly. “And no, I didn’t. You’re wearing this, by the way. Plus a lot of very similar outfits.” Derek sighs, very loudly. “It’s important,” Stiles insists. “It helps you look younger.” Plus he looks  _ really _ good. Apparently Derek in art hoe-type clothes is a bit of a thing for Stiles. Huh. “Would you wear a necklace?” 

Derek punches Stiles in the shoulder. 

He shows up the next morning wearing a necklace. 

  
  
  



End file.
